


drunk on you

by arcanawildcard, clairelutra



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Blow Jobs, Breast Play, Coming Untouched, Creampie, F/M, Face-Sitting, Female Ejaculation, First Meetings, Fluff and Smut, Marathon Sex, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, One Night Stand, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Squirting, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23470654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanawildcard/pseuds/arcanawildcard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairelutra/pseuds/clairelutra
Summary: Akira and Ann meet at a bar, then spend the rest of the night screwing each others' brains out. That's it. That's the fic.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Takamaki Ann, Kurusu Akira/Takamaki Ann, Persona 5 Protagonist/Takamaki Ann
Comments: 11
Kudos: 173





	drunk on you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RVDA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RVDA/gifts).



> ( '3')
> 
> ~~sometimes a coping mechanism is spending a week and a half obsessively writing 5k of pure smut based on a friend's throwaway idea okay. it was a good coping mechanism. TYVM RVDA ♥~~
> 
> and ty to [dora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isadorator/pseuds/isadorator) for the beta 😘

The first sign of trouble, though he didn't know it at the time, was the way his blood pressure just _dropped_ at her smile.

She wasn't his type, just gorgeous enough that that didn't seem to matter—blonde and pale-eyed, legs for _days_ and a figure that had his brain shutting up completely for a solid three seconds...

She took her seat a little ways down the bar, sitting next to the woman she'd come in with and laughing at something she'd said, and Akira knew that he wasn't the only one staring. It wasn't a loud night; the whole establishment had gotten a little quieter now that she was here.

His mouth was hanging open uselessly when she glanced his way, leftover reverie replaced with mild surprise replaced with faint amusement that didn't have a trace of mockery, and he shut it with a click, stomach heating as he looked away.

_Dammit._

She was about as popular as could be expected, and after the bartender helped her shoo away the third hopeful suitor, he didn't particularly feel like trying his luck.

But, well. Looking was free.

And appearance aside, she was so animated it was hypnotic. He couldn't see her face too well as she chatted with her friend, but she _gestured,_ really got her whole body into it, slouching over the bar and sitting bolt upright, hands dancing through the air and wiggling in her seat.

Half his brain was occupied with wondering how responsive she'd be in bed while the other half was convinced he could watch her forever and never get tired of it, with only some small sliver left over to appreciate the drink in his hand.

He'd think it was a pity if he was a little less preoccupied. It was a good drink.

She didn't end up catching him, but her friend did.

He glanced away fast, feeling exposed, and out of his peripheral vision, he could see her elbow the woman in question. The blonde turning her head to look at him didn't come as a surprise, but the fact that she followed it up by downing the rest of her drink in one go, standing up, and making her way over to him did.

"Hey," she breathed, then giggled like a brook, and Akira's mouth went bone-dry. Her smile was _traffic-stopping_ even half drunk, and her eyes were very, _very_ blue. "Can I buy you a drink?"

He nodded dumbly, because that was just what you did when someone like that looked at you like _that,_ and she plopped down next to him, that smile taking a turn for the blatantly flirty and meltingly warm.

If his insides turned to goo at that, he didn't think anyone could judge him for it.

"So..." She giggled again— _ffffuck_ why did that sound so _good?_ "How's your night going?"

...Well, much better now than it had been five minutes ago.

* * *

He was more or less alone tonight—he'd come with Makoto and then helped her leave with someone else, Futaba was at a gaming convention in another prefecture, Ryuji was dead to the world after a brutal work week, and none of the rest of his friends were particularly fond of bars—so there was no one to mock him for how very little he objected to having his personal space bubble popped by his new companion's— _Ann Takamaki's_ —attempts to read his palm or the light brush of her knuckles up his thigh.

He was doing the opposite of objecting, really, and by the time they got to the 'your place or mine', that third button she'd popped open on her shirt had had him trying not to squirm in his seat for about ten minutes.

(She, on the other hand, had been doing plenty of squirming, and that was even worse.)

They didn't end up at either of their places, but instead at a hotel a couple blocks away, her body pinned between his and the door of their room, her skirt rucked up against his thigh and those mouth-watering curves pressed _deliciously_ tight against him.

Stockings, no garters, the plush bulge of flesh on either side of the band under the fingers of his right hand while his left hand had ended up interlaced with hers, pinning her wrist above her head as her free hand carded through his hair—she kept just _humming_ into the kiss, noises that were half sighs and half groans, her hips stuttering every time he sucked her tongue, and he wasn't prone to hyperbole (understatement was more his thing, really), but he was having a hard time remembering if he'd ever been this turned on in his _life._

There were a few good reasons he couldn't just shove her underwear to the side and take her up against the door right then and here, he thought, but the electric current under his skin and the molten pressure in his groin were making loud protests to the contrary.

Her fingers tightened around his, a soft _ah_ leaving her and dispersing into the space between them, and that was the reason and temptation both.

He tried to break the kiss to catch his breath, only to pull a needy whine out of her throat as he left, and it pulled him back with a _snap._

Wet kisses, hot kisses, open kisses, kisses that left his hair standing on end and kisses that left him using the wall for support just as much as she was—all she seemed to want were kisses, and the longer it went on, the more distracted he got, the less he could protest.

They ended up on the bed somehow, their fingers still interlocked, and it was starting to feel like a lifeline; he was drunk on this, drowning in it, and the way the position let her melt and mold to him was just making it _worse._

She didn't object to him unbuttoning her shirt, but _did_ object to him drawing away for long enough to admire the view—which, unfair, really—then crooned and shivered when he kissed the underside of her jaw.

He didn't notice how much the tension had built in her until stroking the skin from her bare hip to the band of her bra had her squeaking and clenching her quivering thighs and just thumbing the lacy cup aside made her jerk.

The way her taut nipple drew across his palm contrasted by the heavy, supple flesh surrounding it pulled a deep groan out of him, knee bumping lightly against the apex of her thighs, and she—

—spasmed, pulses wracking her frame, ripping her mouth away from his so she could cry out, the quality of that _ah-ah-ah!_ surprisingly familiar—

—then collapsed into a puddle, breathing hard.

...Had she just come?

"A-ah... so-orry..." she panted, her embarrassment painted over that glazed-out afterglow, her blouse hanging open and one side of her bra shoved off one ample breast entirely as the strap slid down her arm, and the resulting picture she made was... _nngh._ "M-m-... My mouth is a little... sensitive..."

...Ah.

Well, he thought faintly, that explained why she was so focused on the kissing.

(That little fact wasn't going to leave his head for a long while. Or ever.)

"Right," he croaked when he could speak. "Anything other spots I should know about?"

She shifted, legs parting lethargically in the barest hint of invitation. "Just the normal ones...? I-I think. I'm not... really used to doing... hah... doing this, so... _Mm_..."

The last noise was because he'd rolled between her legs, sat up, and pulled her down until their groins met, the heat of her seeping through his jeans.

Heat and _damp_ —the only way the scarlet lace of her panties didn't match her bra was that her panties were soaked through, smearing glistening _wet_ on her perfect thighs.

Getting all their clothes off was an exercise in patience—the mouth-watering scent that hit him when he pulled her underwear away, the soft rasp of fabric on skin as he removed her skirt, the way her back _arched_ to help him remove her blouse, the way those breasts moved in his hands when he gave into the temptation to push both bra cups up just to feel the shift before unclasping the back—but he managed it, and the view... _god_ the view was worth it.

Then she fought for the rights to his shirt and he unceremoniously discarded his pants for her (to an appreciative purr that went _right_ to his ego), and then there was nothing but him and the goddess he'd accidentally found himself in bed with.

 _Tight_ goddess, he soon found; it took a few careful (mind-blowing) passes to get his cock fully inside her, that molten embrace everything he'd wanted and more.

"Ah..." she breathed, trembling, the noise jolting low in his stomach. "Mm- _mm_..."

He hadn't really considered having a voice kink before this, but she was threatening to make him a convert.

Counting backwards from twenty, he waited for the discomfort to ease from her expression and the tension to fade from her grip on him—he was at 'three' when she collapsed with a sigh, the loosening of her entrance and the cant of her hips welcoming him even deeper.

He ended up thrusting gracelessly a few times, control frayed to shreds, before he had to force himself to stop again; he was going to come embarrassingly fast if he kept that up.

Instead, he made himself go slower, smoother, more careful as every hot-slick- _warm_ push and pull turned into the sweetest agony—

He _wanted,_ god, he wanted her _so bad._ Wanted to flip her over and take and take and take, wanted to take a fistful of that hair and pin her down with it, wanted to make her whimper and beg and _scream_...

But her feet were kneading the bed like this, a glazed out look of gentle bliss in her eyes, and it was so, so, _so_ worth it to just lean down and kiss her again, worth it to be gentle and sweet when it was making her mewl and sigh and leak more slick around his cock with every fluttering squeeze.

She traced his painfully tensed shoulders and chest with a touch that was even sweeter, the look in her eyes concerned and touched. "Ah-ah-I'm— I'm not going t-t- _ah_ bre- _mm_ -eak."

Beads of sweat tickled as they dripped down his arms. _God_ that implicit offer was tempting, but: "But will— _nng_ —will you c-come?"

He'd known her from what probably amounted to less than two hours, but there was something about her that told him that she needed a little more prep to enjoy something like that.

(More prep and longer than thirty seconds flat, which he'd be lucky to make it to if he stopped torturing himself like this.)

She ran a hand through the sweat, face softening, then dropped her hand to where they were joined—no, to her clit—and started rubbing.

He should probably be paying attention to that, but alas: he was about to explode.

It was fortunate, then, that it must have taken her less than ten seconds of that to clench around him like a _vice,_ her cry halfway to a shout as she came and came and _came_ and tore him right over the edge with her.

It was fire and lightning and satisfaction and almost _painful_ to come that hard, his own shout barely audible over the hurricane taking over his system, her walls milking him for every last drop he could give.

He collapsed into her embrace shaking.

He was vaguely aware of being rolled to the side and slightly more aware of slipping out of her in the process, of lips brushing his forehead in a kiss before slim fingers started stroking through his hair again, languid.

It figured that she'd be an affectionate lover.

They stayed like that for a while, his arm locked loosely around her waist and her nails scritching his scalp, then she broke the silence with a sigh, then a purr.

"Good?" he asked, stomach knotting pleasantly at the sound.

 _"Mm_..."

"Good."

Very, very, _very_ good.

She was silent for a few more seconds, then said, "Man, I wish I didn't have to work tomorrow."

"It's a Sunday." But come to think of it, he never had heard what she did for a living...

She hummed again, the noise vibrating against his cheek. "I'm a model. You never really know what days you're gonna get off."

"Model, huh..." He glanced down, taking in her tight stomach and toned legs, perfect hips and generous chest—all natural, but it sure wasn't a body she came by on accident. In hindsight, it made sense that looking good was her profession.

 _"You_ got lucky tonight, didn't you," she teased blithely, a hint of a giggle on her breath, and it wasn't the moment to kiss her, but he wished it was.

"Mm," he agreed. "How'd I do that?"

She seemed to think it was a genuine question, which it almost was. What on earth had had her choosing _him?_

"Well, you actually looked at my face," she said. "Not many guys do that. And you actually listened to me. And you're pretty cute."

"High praise, coming from someone like you."

"Uh-huh!" she agreed without a trace of shame. He could hear the smug, airy smile in her voice as she added, "You should be proud. Official Ann Takamaki stamp of approval."

 _God,_ she was cute.

He hid his face in her collarbone and rolled them until she was on top of him, her sternum at mouth-level. "I will be," he promised, struggling against a smile of his own.

"Good," she said, obediently rising up on all fours when he nudged her, then he caught the peak of her breast in his mouth and—"Oh!"

It was more a noise of surprise than arousal, but her next hum as he swirled his tongue around her nipple and gave it a suck was much more on track.

'Just the normal spots' didn't narrow anything down at all, really, and the returning itch in his bones had him down to explore until she told him to stop.

Breasts: sensitive. _Gloriously_ sensitive. So sensitive that he got a little sidetracked just suckling and massaging them because of how she _responded,_ his own fondness aside. Gasps and twitches and squirms; hands occupied with the headboard but she kept trying to let go to touch herself and losing her balance; rubbing _wet_ all over his stomach as she tried to get friction that way and whining when he pushed her hips back up.

She was trembling by the time he thought to move on, nipples swollen red to match her bitten lip and flushed-scarlet face, dripping cum-and-slick in threads from the apex of her thighs.

'Exploration' was sort of staggering to the back of his mind as the mess she was leaving on his abdomen only got messier, and he could say for sure that his refractory period was very definitely thoroughly _over._

Having her body practically _beg_ for it was doing things to his head. And his dick.

_Fuck._

Through the headrush, he still ran his fingertips down her sides and earned a shiver, her expression contorting and then relaxing, open-mouthed and panting, and took note of the way her body moved when he hit her waist. He let her hips fill his hands just for the pleasure of it, all tantalizingly firm muscle and soft padding. He followed the curve down until he hit her thighs, feeling the second shudder run through her, and traced that hypnotic V of her abdomen, followed it down, down, down to her mound—

He only just hit it when she let out a loud, breathy gasp and a _gush_ of white-laced arousal that splashed onto his cock.

Oh.

He stared numbly at the mess, watched it as much as he _felt_ it drip down the shaft, burning slick cooling in the air as it coated his erection.

... _Fuck._

There was probably an ego trip to be had at the fact that he'd made her come twice at practically nothing, and he'd feel it when he could breathe again. Probably.

God, why why _why_ wasn't he inside her already. _Why._

She solved that for him while he was still reeling. Repositioning him just slightly, she lined the head of his cock up with her entrance, and then _dropped._

Everything between his ears turned to static at the sudden friction-heat- _wet_ squeeze—

—and then she clamped around him _tight_ and he only barely managed not to come on the spot.

Her twitching, fluttering aftershocks were making it incredibly hard to blink his vision clear, and when he managed it, Ann was panting, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused, scarlet blush reaching all the way down to her shoulders and breasts—still reddened from the attention—looking absolutely lovely and absolutely _debauched._

He'd done that.

Fuck, _he'd done that._

Also, he needed to move. _Now._

She submitted, limp, to being flipped over, her contributions amounting to wrapping her legs around him and angling her hips for better access, and he just— _lost it._

She was making good on that promise that she wouldn't break, he noted with that last corner of his brain that wasn't complete slush, arching her back and pushing back into his punishing thrusts as his control disintegrated into nothing.

He was sort of aware of what she was doing, making it better for him while he couldn't reciprocate, and damn, it was _working._ Squeezing and loosening in time with his messy strokes, heels encouraging him to plunge back inside every time he pulled back, crooning in his ear as she stroked his face in some attempt at soothing him, little kisses landing on his skin when he got within reach—all she was really doing was _destroying him,_ but he appreciated the effort.

He came fast and hard—it was a physical impossibility to last any longer than he did—and she made absolutely sure that he was as deep as he could get when he did, which was... a sensation he wasn't going to be forgetting anytime soon, that was for sure.

He made sure to crumple next to her this time, chest heaving and lungs stuttering as he tried and failed to catch his breath, or even to just get enough oxygen, every nerve in his body vibrating and set aflame.

The room was swimming, but he was pretty sure she was stroking his face again.

"I was wondering what it would take to make you lose it like that," she murmured, tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear while stars kept flashing in his vision. She breathed a giggle, and it coursed through his system like water. "That was _hot."_

She had _no idea._

He let out a ragged laugh and tried to pat whatever part of her he could reach, and ended up just flopping a hand below her shoulder.

He knew he hadn't quite satisfied her that time around, but knowing that and seeing her drop a hand between her legs and start lazily rubbing one out were two very different things.

For one, the former left him feeling a little guilty and wondering if it was really okay to stop on that note, while the latter was hot enough that he was left wondering if it really _would_ stop on that note. The sight alone had his blood sparking through the heavy afterglow.

She was just so _gorgeous_ he didn't want to interrupt. The slow, almost luxuriant rhythm of her hand; the noises she made under her deep, almost-even breathing; the subtle expressions flitting across her face so much more relaxed that they felt like a brand new kind of intimacy, one that left his gut squirming and his heart quivering.

He could tell that she wasn't putting on a show, just wandering after her own pleasure at her own pace, enjoying the journey instead of rushing herself to completion the way he had been, and it was...

...Vulnerable.

Sweet.

 _Enchanting,_ really.

He lost track of time just watching her—the achingly slow build, the way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, the way her chest moved as her sighs got tighter and pitchier—and then she was _coming,_ stiffening and shivering and curling her toes with the most _tempting_ little gasp...

He caught the tail end of the noise with his lips, cupping her face and thumbing her cheek as he kissed it away, breathing in air that was half fresh, half hers, their breath mingling on the exhale, her mouth _unbelievably_ hot, even after all of this, slick and sweet, tongue and teeth.

It stole away his senses, arousal taking on a honeyed quality as the kiss got slower and deeper, taking out everything that wasn't _her_ and left him with her sweat-damp skin and flush-burning lips.

 _Fuck,_ she tasted good.

She'd wiped most of the slick on her fingers off on the bedspread, but there were still traces of it there when he broke the kiss and brought them to his mouth.

She blinked at him for it, melted into mellow curiosity, then he tasted tang and salt and bitterness and musk on her soft, slim digits, and it went _right_ to his groin—closely followed by the shuddering breath she drew as he licked her hand clean.

It occurred to him that that bitterness was _him,_ and he'd never particularly enjoyed tasting his own cum, but the thought that she'd just rubbed his release all over her sex to get off was...

He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling much antsier than he had a few seconds ago.

If he went down on her now...

Well. If you were talking erogenous zones, you didn't get much more 'normal' than the clit.

She grumbled at him when he made her to rise up on her knees, wobbling and hazy-eyed, but complied anyway.

He wasn't really sure how she could miss the meaning of him getting her to straddle his shoulders, but the look of borderline alarm that flashed across her face when he went to bury his face between her creamy, flush-stained thighs was downright endearing.

"Wait!" she blurted, red face just visible between her breasts. "Um! I-isn't that a little— _Hiiiak!"_

He'd gotten as much of their mixed fluids as he could in one deep swipe, and it was even better than he'd hoped. The bitterness was _everywhere_ —she really had worked it through every nook and cranny, hadn't she. She tasted like _that_ and it should have been gross but his head was just spinning at the combination, heaven and sin and _sex._

He didn't like his own cum, but _god_ he could make an exception for this.

However, it was also a hell of a mouthful.

He struggled to swallow while she babbled, "Uh-um, you don't have to— isn't that kind of disgustin—" He swallowed. "— _nngyek!_ Ah- _ah...!"_

Her noises only got sharper and more stuttering as he set about cleaning up every last drop, her nails scrabbling at the headboard and thighs clamping over his ears.

Already sensitive from that last orgasm, he noted fuzzily. _Be gentle._

Even being gentle, she responded faster and harder and _louder_ than anyone ever had before, and it was _heady._ It was nothing at all to play her for all she was worth, and her body was shaking in under a minute, noises ranging from breathy groans to desperate keens to...

 _"Oh,_ Aki-Akira-a- _a-ah-mn!"_ The whole weight of her shifted as she pitched forward to bite her forearm, and he had to shove her hips back to keep breathing. "Ple-shh, hnng, _'Kira!"_

Swirl his tongue through her opening, suck on her folds, press her clit, and back. Swirl her clit, stroke her folds, lap up the rush of _them_ spilling into his mouth, the thick taste of his cum offset by the tartness of her slick, mingling in salt and sex and sex and _sex_...

He gave up on holding her hips at her first real grind—at this angle, it was obvious that she vastly overpowered him—just made sure to breathe in when he could as she pushed his head deep into the pillow and _sobbed._

One hand went to the small of her back to urge her closer still, and the other went to his cock, because damn it all, she was _getting to him_ like nothing else—apparently being half-smothered under a goddess who was keening his name and rutting her messy approval all over his face was his kink, or something.

(She had yet to do or be anything that _wasn't_ his kink. He was starting to wonder if there was an end to it, or if they were just going to fuck and fuck and fuck until they dropped.)

He squeezed the base, giving himself a slow stroke, then a faster, firmer pump, and groaned long and low out of sheer _relief._

Ann shuddered and clenched, a choked off squeal bouncing off the walls as she just _flooded_ his mouth—

The signs pointed to 'fuck until they dropped.' Akira couldn't find it in himself to care.

He swallowed down what she's given him, her sex twitching against his lips and every other muscle in her body going lax, and kept jerking himself off, a much more direct sensation of electricity building at the base of his spine to join the hazy fog of arousal clogging his senses.

The slick on his cock was all but dry, but that didn't keep the memory of what it had felt like to be inside her from helping things along. _God,_ she felt so good. So, so, _so good._

He didn't take his time with it, more interested in getting some kind of release than indulging to the point of overstimulation again, back arching clear off the bed as he pushed the feeling higher and higher and struggled not to bite down on the delicate flesh on his lips.

His orgasm wasn't earth-shattering this time around, just cool heat and warm pleasure, system relaxing and heart pounding, neglecting her in the afterglow as he recovered.

He'd expected her to get off him then, what with the apparent halt, but she seemed to have forgotten their position entirely as she caught her breath, almost hiccuping through gasping lungfuls of air still. She shifted only to slump further into the headboard, catching his nose in her cleft and pressing it down.

He let out a grunt at that, and she _jerked_ like she'd been shocked.

Not over, then.

He couldn't say that he minded.

He got to work, and she was reduced to senseless begging with gratifying alacrity.

"Akira, please, oh _please,_ Akira-Akira-Ah-ah-ahh, please, oh oh _oh, please_ —"

Her response was even more intense than last time, high squeaks and squeals and moans and stuttering not-laughter getting higher and more erratic and _louder_ all the time, shaking like a leaf and dropping her hand to get a grip on his hair.

Of all the ego trips tonight, getting her to _scream his name_ when she came was by far the biggest.

She did pull away from him after that, wobbling as she rolled to the side and slumped bonelessly against the headboard.

"E-enough," she wheezed through labored breaths, eyes glazed as she aimed them at the blank wall across from her. "Mercy... Uncle... I can't take any more..."

"Heh."

(Well, not like he could take much more either, but she didn't need to know that.)

A beat, and then she said, "Y'know, I kinda wanna hate you for that smug face, but I guess you deserve it, huh."

"Damn straight." He'd only made her come _five times._ That called for a little pride no matter how sensitive her trigger was.

She tried to laugh and trailed off on a groan, sliding down the headboard in the most unattractive slouch she could manage. Predictably, it was still devastatingly attractive.

He still had cum on his hands from that last orgasm. He considered wiping it off on the sheets for sheer convenience, but he had no real excuse for not reaching over and grabbing tissues off the bedside table, so he did that instead, exhaustion twinging in every muscle. He hadn't felt _this_ gloriously used in a _long_ time.

He got most of the jizz, wadded up the tissue, and aimed for the trashcan.

Even as heavy as his limbs felt, it was still a hole-in-one.

"Alright."

She giggled again at his fistpump, hiccupy and sweet, and he couldn't suppress the smile tugging at his mouth. Being the one to make her laugh felt even better now than it had before the sex haze, somehow.

The giggle trailed off into a deep, contented sigh, and when he glanced over, he found her seemingly drifting off where she sat.

 _That_ wouldn't be comfortable.

"Come on," he murmured, tugging at the blankets under her. "You'll get cold."

She grumbled adorably.

 _One night stand,_ his mind whispered as he helped her get tucked in, but kissing her forehead as he did so felt too natural to stop.

She ended up half in his arms when he got in himself, her skin sticky with drying sweat and smelling like heaven. He couldn't find it in himself to mind.

He could worry about the intimacy in the morning. Now, it was time for sleep.

* * *

He awoke to the sensation of cold air washing over his bare skin (bare?) from stomach to knee and something (someone?) settling between his thighs.

 _Taptaptaptap_ went fingertips on the soft skin just below his groin.

He blinked at the ceiling, memories of last night filtering in in movie-reel snapshots and evidence of a hangover throbbing dully between his ears, then he glanced down.

Blue eyes clear as an electric shock, a face that was somehow even prettier than his memories suggested, top half bare except for the loose twist of gold pulled over her shoulder, a shy, hopeful smile behind his morning wood...

Ah.

Well.

So.

That.

He could feel the heat start to rise in his face. And other places. That morning wood wasn't going to stay just morning wood for long.

Holding his gaze, Ann leaned in and placed a soft, warm kiss on his shaft.

Everything under his skin _jolted._

He wasn't sure what he looked like just then, but whatever it was made that shy hope turn into something pleased and proud—and then a long, slow lick that dragged up from the base of his cock and ended with with her hot-hot- _hot_ mouth closed around the tip, her cheeks flushed and her eyes unfocused.

"Ann—" he croaked, then, "— _Gfnnck!"_ because her immediate response was to suck him in until he hit the back of her throat, the vibration of a breathy moan hitting him like an electric current.

"Fuck, _Ann,"_ he tried again, even weaker than before as she swirled him in her mouth a little as she pulled off, then swallowed him down again, even deeper than before. "A-Ann— ahh-hn... _gnk!"_

With nothing else to focus on but her mouth—her tongue, her _throat_ —there was nothing he could do to stop the litany of embarrassing noises leaving his throat, his face almost as overheated as his dick.

And she looked so _smug_ about it (not that it wasn't deserved, _fuck,_ it was so deserved) he almost wished he could up and leave.

But that would mean that this would stop, and that was unthinkable.

She was going _tortuously_ slow, seemingly more interested in tasting him than anything else. The pace oddly reminiscent of— of the way her hand had moved between her legs, luxurious and indulgent and _fuck_ her hips were shifting against the bed down there, weren't they.

Not saying that the noise that escaped him at the realization wasn't downright mortifying or anything, but to judge by her expression ( _fuck,_ that expression), she might have been getting more out of this than he was.

 _Sensitive mouth,_ he remembered a split second before she let out a little huff and took him all the way down her (hotwet _tight_ ) throat in one go.

His vision went white, a strangled obscenity that was probably his ringing in his ears, hands fisting in the sheets...

When he could see again, the expression she greeted him with conveyed a truly impressive amount of self-satisfaction for someone whose lips were stretched around the base of a throbbing dick.

"Oh, fuck," he rasped, and her satisfaction only grew.

Embarrassing noises turned into senseless babbling as she stopped teasing and just _went for it,_ cobbling together words being the only thing keeping him off the edge as her mouth worked faster and tighter and _deeper._

It didn't work for long.

Suck, swallow, trace every feature with a painfully teasing tongue, sigh, hum, moan, swallow, swallow, swirl and lick and _swallow_ —he was so far gone that her name was becoming indistinguishable from the moans, punctuated only by choked swears and strangled pleas.

It was an eternity and no time at all before he was trying to communicate a warning through a mouth that just wouldn't work with him, touching her cheek with shaking hands and trying to encourage her to pull away—a message she got and then stoutly refused to follow.

It ended with her lips sealed around the head of his cock as he came and came and _came_ more than should have been possible, given that this was the _fourth time in the past twelve hours._

The tip of her tongue pressed against him just below the surge, something changing in her eyes as her face went slack. The tiniest swipe of friction crackled in his very bones, the pressure stuttering as she struggled to swallow down every last bit.

Then, thoroughly, truly, and _completely_ spent, he slumped back, the afterglow golden and heavy to contrast the chilly morning air.

Ann, for her part, raised a hand to her mouth to catch a drop that had escaped, that perfect tongue only serving to smear it, it was so coated in cum. Giving up after a few seconds of futile attempt, she dropped her head onto his hip and panted, blinking distant, damp, glazed-over eyes.

He pushed her hair out of her sweaty, burning face, and she sagged, nudging into his hand like a cat. She wasn't completely naked, he saw now, just wrapped in a towel that almost didn't cover her chest.

"Ugh," she rasped, "Just showered and I got all sweaty again."

He was about to reply to that when she looked down and rubbed her thighs together.

"Aaaaand wet." Then, in an adorable whisper: "Oops."

...Ah.

Sensitive mouth indeed.

"Want me to return the favor?" he offered. Tasting her again would be the opposite of a chore.

She managed to flush even darker. "I-I'm good. Like, um. _Really_ good."

He grunted acknowledgement, blinking at the blank ceiling as he tried to figure out if she'd just implied that she'd come purely from sucking him off or if that was just his imagination.

The loose way she rolled into a sitting position and wobbled to her feet suggested that it really hadn't been.

Akira swallowed against a dry mouth—partially from that, and partially because her towel had slipped off in the process. The graceful, ample curve of upper back to waist to ass just hit _differently_ when his senses were clear.

She stared at the towel for a moment, then sighed and slung it around her shoulders like a cape, which hid the curve, but didn't make the sight of her walking away any less... _unf._

( _You got lucky tonight, didn't you,_ she'd teased, and she was right. For more reasons than the unselfconscious sway of her hips.)

"Oh! Um!" she said at the entrance to the bathroom. Her flush had faded down to a fetching shade of rose, and it only enhanced the shy look she shot him over her shoulder. "We should totally exchange contact info... if you... want to."

"...Mm," he agreed, because that was just what you did when someone like that looked at you like _that._

She brightened like _he_ was the one who'd just made _her_ entire day, not the other way around.

Finding their phones was the short process of digging them out of their clothes, and before two minutes were up, he had _Ann Takamaki from Encore Models_ in his contacts, and Ann herself was yelping at the time and scampering for the bathroom.

He ended up staring at the number she'd left him with while memories danced through his head, from what she sounded like when she was sitting on his face to the _official Ann Takamaki stamp of approval,_ how _happy_ she'd looked when he agreed to trade numbers to her soft caresses as he came undone inside of her...

* * *

He was half-asleep by the time she came out of the bathroom again.

"Okay, I _really_ need to run, but—" Her voice dropped to a startled whisper. "Oh, oops."

He expected her to sidle past the bed and tiptoe out of the room, but instead the sound of heels clicked up to the bedside table beside him, the rustle of quiet rummaging washing over him.

The scratch of a pen, the rip of a paper, the thunk of something small being moved... and then she paused.

Three deep, slow breaths, and then she shifted, hair tickling his bare shoulder and—soft lips pressing to his cheek, leaving that spot warm and damp and waxy in her wake.

"Sleep well," she murmured in his ear, then pulled back. "—Oh shoot, I'm _late!"_

He waited for her to hurry out of the room before reaching for the pillow next to him and pulling it over his head, face hot and heart the consistency of melted butter.

Dammit.

How dare she, really. Who gave her the _right?_

...He was in so much trouble.

So, so, so much trouble.

* * *

The note she'd left was an apology for leaving while he was asleep and a reminder to text her whenever he felt like it.

It took him a week to stop pretending that 'whenever he felt like it' wasn't _'constantly'_ , three weeks to stop pretending that sex was even close to the only reason he was in this, and five for Makoto to start judging him for not just asking her out already.

It wasn't long before Akira learned that 'trouble' was Ann beating him to it, breathy and shy and smiling nervously as she clarified, _like, you know, a date-date._

Three months later, he learned that 'trouble' was Ann accusing him of being the guy she'd fallen in love with, voice raised finger pointing and scarlet face and all.

Ans six months down the line, he learned that 'trouble' was waking up next to her and realizing she hadn't gone home in a week and how very, very okay he was with that.

It was a good thing that Akira never minded a little trouble.


End file.
